


beatles kid proposes on a stairway

by villiageidiot



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:59:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villiageidiot/pseuds/villiageidiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the one wherein Blaine and Kurt have more hits on YouTube than the grape lady.</p>
            </blockquote>





	beatles kid proposes on a stairway

For Kurt, it starts with a note and a twenty-five dollar tip on a check for a simple side salad.

_Good luck with the wedding! You two are cuter than Kevin and Scotty on Brothers & Sisters!!_

He shows the receipt to Rachel who launches into a conversation with herself about the realistic depths of Kevin’s neuroses and the unrealistic twist of Scotty’s infidelity but Kurt quickly tunes her out.

He’s only been at the Spotlight Diner for a few days and sure, he’s a better server now than he was on his first day but still — the twenty-five dollar tip on a five dollar meal wasn’t exactly _deserved._ He forgot to bring her extra croutons, he never remembered to refill her water with lemon, and hello, he didn’t even give her the right dressing. (She ordered Catalina and was wearing an ivory dress, no way was he tempting the fates like that.)

He shows the receipt to Santana when she gets back from break and she’s basically just as useless as Rachel.

“God, go figure,” she mutters. “Sure, you’ve been here all of ten minutes while I’ve been slaving away for months. Of _course_ you should be the first one of us to get a creepy disturbing benefactor.”

Kurt blinks at her.

“Which one is he?” she continues. “I bet he’s old.”

“ _She_ is gone, you psycho.”

“He’ll be back,” she says, blatantly ignoring him. “And I’m sure he’ll be offering to like, buy your skin.”

Kurt wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Thanks for your help, Santana. Such a perpetual ray of sunshine.”

When their shift ends, all three of them end up back at the apartment, too exhausted to enjoy the rest of their Saturday night doing anything other than sitting on the couch and watching what’s left of a _Real Housewives_ marathon.

“How are these women famous?” Rachel complains for the umpteenth time. “They haven’t done anything to deserve it! They have no _talent,_ no _drive_. They’re only famous by association and it isn’t fair.”

“What’s not fair is that they’re super rich but still just look like a colony of melting wax people,” Santana adds.

Kurt’s too tired of having this same conversation so he simply says, “If I could make a name for myself just by knowing someone important, I’d take it.”

Famous last words.

: : :

For Blaine, it starts with a series of text messages from Kurt:

_Blaine._

_We’re famous._

_I made over two hundred dollars today._

_It was a three hour shift._

_Also, we’re renting a peacock._

Unfortunately, Kurt’s already in class with his phone shut off when Blaine reads the texts during his fifth period European History so he can’t exactly call to get some clarification. He shows his phone to Tina to see if maybe she can make sense of it because hey, she’s known him a bit longer than Blaine has. When she frowns and shrugs helplessly, he shows it to Sam to see if maybe _he_ has any ideas. God knows that he isn’t a thing like Kurt but Sam’s brain works in ways that Blaine can’t even begin to understand so it’s worth a shot.

“Peacock?” Sam asks loud enough to get some looks from the kids in the few surrounding desks. “Is that like a sex thing?”

Blaine stares at him and pockets his phone. “Never mind,” he sighs.

“Like a _gay_ sex thing, I mean,” Sam clarifies.

Blaine’s quiet for a moment. “You seriously think that Kurt, _my_ Kurt, the Kurt you’ve known for almost three years now, would be texting me about renting ‘a gay sex thing’?”

“Hey, no judgment,” Sam says casually. “I’m the best man; I’ll rent whatever you need me to rent. I just need to know what it is so I can go track it down.”

“I will never ask you to rent gay sex stuff, Sam. _Ever,”_ he says, rolling his eyes. “Plus, I’m pretty sure Kurt’s talking about an actual peacock.”

“Why would Kurt want to rent an actual peacock?” Sam asks, confused. Because apparently it’s more plausible that Kurt would want to rent a _gay sex thing_ , good god how is Sam Evans still his best friend.

Blaine shrugs and can’t help but smile. “Because he’s Kurt.”

Tina leans over to join the discussion and narrows her eyes. “So that’s how it’ll be? Kurt’s going to tell you stuff he wants at your wedding and you’re just going to say yes to everything?”

Blaine frowns. “I’m not _that_ bad.”

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Dude, you’re that bad.”

He shrugs again. “So? I like saying yes to him. Plus, I’m not going to say yes to _everything_. Even if we save every penny during our engagement, we won’t be able to afford half the stuff he wants.”

“I’ve seen the wedding portfolios he used to have,” Tina tells them both. “And he wants a lot.”

Blaine grins again because holy crap, he’s getting _married._ “If we can afford it, he can have it.”

Famous last words.

: : :

Kurt spends the next few days trying to piece together the details of _what the hell is happening_.

On Monday he gets two twenty dollar tips, on Tuesday it’s _three,_ on Friday it’s two _forty_ dollar tips, and on his Monday morning when the diner is almost dead, he gets three _fifty_ dollar tips. He’s absolutely and totally baffled so he stops one of the couples on their way out. They look to be about forty and almost _star-struck_ when Kurt addresses them.

“Thank you,” he says emphatically. “I’m not sure what to say except thank you.”

The woman gives him a bright smile. “You’re both so young and that speech was — just — oh my _Lord._ We figured you two might not be able to afford all of the things you’d want and seeing as that I’ve watched that video at least a dozen times, it was only fair that I do _something_ to contribute.”

Kurt stares at them, more confused than he was two minutes ago. “I’m sorry?”

“Try to use that towards something _good,”_ the man next to her says. “Not for invitations or the DJ or the basic stuff but towards something you’ve always wanted at your wedding but never thought you’d get.”

“Peacocks,” Kurt says out of nowhere. “I’ve always wanted a peacock. You know, to carry the rings.”

The woman beams again. “Then please _please_ use that towards your peacock.”

Kurt stares at them because what the hell else could someone do in response to that sentence?

“I’m still not sure I understand,” he says after a long pause. “What speech? What video?”

The man’s jaw drops. “You haven’t seen the video?”

“Why would he need to see the video?” the woman asks, irritated. “He was _there,_ Jim.”

“He doesn’t seem to know there _is_ a video, Patty,” the man — Jim — bites back.

She pauses and cocks her head at Kurt. “You haven’t seen the video?”

Kurt gives her a quizzical look in response. “What video?”

Patty gives him a soft smile and says, “When you get a chance, type in _Beatles kid proposes on stairway_ on YouTube. Then enjoy the next five minutes.”

Kurt’s mouth falls opens slightly.

“Peacocks, kid,” Jim says on his way out. “Promise to put it towards the peacocks.”

Kurt watches them go, eyes wide, then books it towards the kitchen, grabbing Santana’s elbow as he walks past her.

“I was in the middle of _talking._ Jesus, what is your _deal_?” she grits out.

“Oh my _god_ , I think I’m an internet sensation,” Kurt hisses at her as he pulls out his phone and types out exactly what he’s supposed to.

And there it is. _Beatles kid proposes on stairway_ video, about five minutes long.

Fifteen _million_ views.

“I’m famous,” he whispers to himself, stunned.

“Holy shit, you’re _famous,_ ” Santana echoes. “You’ve got more hits than that douchebag grape lady.”

His eyes widen and he looks up at her. “I’m definitely getting a peacock.”

She blinks then tears her elbow away from his grip. “You actually get gayer every day; you’d think it be impossible at this point.”

He’s pretty out of it for the rest of his shift and doesn’t remember to text Blaine until he’s on the bus back to his apartment before his afternoon classes begin.

When he turns his phone back on after class, he only has two messages in response to the five he sent earlier.

_Okay, peacocks it is._

_Love you. :)_

Kurt waits for a few minutes until he’s sure Blaine’s out of class before he gives him a call.

“Hello, handsome,” Blaine says as he answers.

“Don’t you want to know _why_ I want a peacock?” Kurt asks immediately.

“I — what? No. I figured you wanted it to hold the rings or something. And if we —”

“Blaine, we’re _famous,”_ Kurt interrupts.

He’s quiet. “We’re what?”

“Famous,” Kurt repeats. “Check out _Beatles kid proposes on stairway_ and you’ll see just how famous we are.”

Blaine is silent again. “What,” he says flatly.

“You heard me,” he says back. “Your proposal is on YouTube, Blaine. There are _millions_ of views.”

“Oh, I — I’m so sorry,” Blaine says, sounding unsure. “I mean, should I be apologizing or …?”

“People are throwing money at me, Blaine.”

“Right,” he replies slowly. “So I _don’t_ need to apologize then?”

Kurt huffs out a laugh. “No,” he answers. “But be ready for the most fabulous wedding you’ve ever dreamed of.”

Blaine’s voice is quiet as he says, “Trust me, I already was.”

: : :

And then the tips start hitting the triple digits.

And they come from the _strangest_ of people.

: : :

**one.**

The next Friday he’s at the movie theater when he gets another series of texts from Kurt.

_Golden Gardenias, Blaine. Our floral arrangements will be to die for._

_And Gloriosas in deep reds._

_I’ve sent you an email with some links._

_We can go with deep orange Gloriosa if you prefer._

_But personally I think the deep reds will provide a better contrast._

He blinks at the texts and feels Sam peeking over his shoulder. “What’s a Gloriosa?”

“A flower,” Blaine answers quietly. “A very very expensive flower.”

It’s followed a little later by a picture of Kurt at the diner with about ten teenaged girls flanking him accompanied by a text. _They were awful and condescending and rude but they asked for my picture then left a hundred dollar tip and begged me to get an elegant floral arrangement._

Blaine stares at the photo longingly, suddenly missing his boyfriend — no wait, his _fiance_ — intensely.

 _Thank the girls for our flowers,_ Blaine texts back. _And I miss you._

: : :

**two.**

Kurt closes the diner the following Sunday so Blaine wakes up to a handful of texts the following morning.

_Look at this cake. Tell me you don’t want this cake, Blaine._

_You can decide on the flavors if you like._

_And yes, I know that there are six tiers._

_But don’t focus on that right now._

_Just think about an entire tier of buttercream. I know you love buttercream._

Then there’s a picture of a big, surly construction worker with his arm draped over Kurt’s shoulders, hardhat held loosely by his side. A text follows: _This is Cliff. He likes cake._

 _Well, tell him I DO like buttercream, thank you,_ Blaine replies. ( _And you look hot in those pants.)_

: : :

**three.**

The next weekend, Kurt sends him another flurry of texts.

_What do you think about Colombian coffee beans in the wedding favors bag?_

_I found some stunning Mojito kits._

_And beautiful antique bottle openers._

_Maybe crystal engraved shot glasses._

_THERE IS A PLACE THAT MAKES TINY PIES IN A JAR, BLAINE._

He’s at one of the back tables in the Lima Bean when he gets the texts, Artie sitting next to him and leaning in closer to read them along with Blaine.“He wants you to pick one of those to put in the wedding favor bag?”

“No,” Blaine answers, staring at his screen. “I think he wants _all_ of those things in the wedding favor bag.”

Later that afternoon, he gets two more texts from Kurt while he’s working at the diner; one is a picture of a receipt with a handwritten note saying _, Use the cash for the wedding. Use my number if the wedding doesn’t work out._ The second text is a photo of some guy — way built and way toned and definitely not a high school student in Ohio — with his hand curled low low _low_ on Kurt’s hip.

Blaine narrows his eyes at the image. _Yes to the Mojitos and tiny jar pies,_ he quickly texts back, _but lose the number and the guy._

: : :

**four.**

A few days later, the texts come even before Kurt’s shift has ended.

_Look at these pictures of the Central Park Loeb Boathouse._

_Look at this lighting._

_And those windows._

_And the terrace._

_They even have gondolas, Blaine._

_Didn’t you say you always wanted a gondola??_

_Or wait, maybe that was me._

Blaine scrolls through some of the pictures on their website during his study hall. The gondolas _do_ seem pretty amazing. It seems like sort of an uppity place to get married but whatever, _where_ he gets married has never been too much of a concern for him. It could be outside, on a beach, in a church, in a hotel lobby, wherever. Blaine’s always been a little more focused on the _who_.

He gets another text, a picture of Kurt in the middle of four middle-aged nuns. _The sisters of Saint Anthony want us to get married ‘someplace magical’ since we can’t get married in their church._

He grins at the picture because even though Kurt’s smiling, Blaine can tell that he’s awkward and a little tense. Standing in a hub of Catholic nuns is probably not Kurt’s ideal Wednesday night.

 _That’s thoughtful,_ Blaine texts back. _And if the terrace and gondolas are magical enough for you then they’re magical enough for me._

: : :

**five.**

He receives a string of texts while sitting front row in the choir room during glee practice.

_How do you feel about a harp?_

_FYI, I’m preemptively vetoing a DJ. And a cover band._

_Violas? Oboes? Flutes?_

_Or should we just keep it simple with a twelve piece orchestra?_

_Wait how do you feel about TWO harps?_

Everyone turns to look at him when his phone starts to buzz … and then doesn’t _stop_ buzzing.

“Sorry,” Blaine says, pulling out his phone to silence it. He glances down to quickly skim Kurt’s texts then blinks and stares at the screen.

“Tell him we say hi,” Mr. Schue says with a smile.

“He wants a harp. Wait, no, harps _plural,_ ” Blaine says suddenly and for no reason whatsoever. He’s pretty sure his choir teacher doesn’t give a crap about their wedding music.

“Okay,” Mr. Schue says slowly. “Well, a lot of people probably rent wedding harps.”

Blaine thinks of saying _name five_ but he really doesn’t want to disrupt class any more than he already has. He looks over to see Artie giving him a skeptical stare.

“This is _Kurt_ ,” Artie says unnecessarily. “Wedding harps is surprising to you?”

“No,” he admits. “Well, the second harp maybe is.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great, Blaine,” Mr. Schue says.

“And he also wants a simple twelve piece orchestra,” Blaine adds.

Mr. Schue’s smile falters and he gives Blaine a wary look. “You know a twelve piece orchestra isn’t typically considered _simple_ , right?” he asks carefully.

“Do _I_?” Blaine says, eyebrows raised. “Yes. Does my fiance? Apparently not.”

Another text comes in, a picture of Kurt sandwiched between an elderly couple, all three smiling brightly. _Howard and Melba say hello_. _Howard also says that hearing that harp while they walked back down the aisle together was one of the happiest moments of his life._

Blaine stares down at his phone and smiles.

 _Hello, Howard and Melba,_ Blaine texts back. _And Howard, I bet listening to two harps while Kurt and I walk back down the aisle together will be the happiest moment of my life, too._

: : :

He visits Kurt in New York the following weekend and Kurt drags him back to his room almost immediately after he steps foot into the loft. Blaine’s pretty damn pumped at the direction it seems to be going this early into his visit but then Kurt pulls Blaine right past the bed towards one of his dressers.

“Take this,” Kurt says, pushing a bag full of money into Blaine’s hands.

Blaine stares at it. “This is so much money,” he whispers to himself. “ _So_ much _.”_

“I know,” Kurt tells him. “I can’t be trusted with it.”

“It’s _your_ money,” Blaine says with a quizzical look. “You earned it.”

“No,” Kurt argues, arching his eyebrow. “People gave _us_ this money and all I did was stand on a stairway. I didn’t do anything important.”

Blaine frowns. “You said yes,” he points out. “That’s pretty important.”

Kurt ignores him. “Take it back with you. Put it into the bank. If you leave it with me, I’ll do something ridiculous like rent a peacock and buy a six-tiered wedding cake.”

Blaine still looks confused. “But I thought we _wanted_ a peacock and a six-tiered wedding cake?”

Kurt scoffs. “Who rents a peacock and two harps? I mean, _honestly,_ Blaine.”

“You do,” he answers, dropping the bag full of money (dear god, so much money) onto the floor before tugging Kurt a little closer. “ _We_ do.”

“You can’t possibly tell me that you want all those things,” he says skeptically.

Blaine shrugs. “Sure I do. I’m happy when you’re happy and if a peacock or two makes _you_ happy then I say bring on the peacocks.”

Kurt suddenly looks insecure in a way Blaine seldom ever sees. “But _peacocks and gondolas_ , Blaine,” he says. “Don’t you ever wish I just wanted something a little less outlandish like maybe an ice sculpture or a champagne waterfall?”

“No,” Blaine answers without hesitation. “If I wanted boring, I wouldn’t be in love with you in the first place.”

Kurt mulls that over and Blaine must have said something right because suddenly, Blaine’s being nudged back towards the bed and their ridiculous pile of money is sitting forgotten on the floor. Blaine’s pretty damn pumped again.

: : :

The next day, he surprises Kurt at the diner.

“What are you doing here?” he laughs, sliding into the booth next to Blaine.

Blaine holds up three dollars. “You’re the guy from the video, right? The _Beatles kid proposes on a stairway_ one?”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Maybe, why?”

He shrugs. “Rumor has it that people leave you huge tips and give you ideas about how you should spend it then get to take a picture with the waiter.”

“Oh?” Kurt says, arching an eyebrow. “That’s the rumor, is it?”

“Here,” Blaine says, waving around his three dollars.

Kurt eyes the money. “And this is for what?”

“Use this to buy something to wear on your wedding night,” Blaine suggests with a hopeful expression.

“Three dollars?” Kurt asks, unimpressed. “I can’t afford clothes with three dollars.”

Blaine kicks his grin up a notch. “That’s too bad.”

Kurt rolls his eyes then slides out of the booth and pulls Blaine out after him. “A deal’s a deal,” he says. “So now you get a picture.”

Blaine wraps his arm around Kurt’s waist and tugs him close while one of his co-workers snaps a quick picture.

Kurt pockets the three dollars then gives a flirty grin. “Thanks for the tip, sir.”

: : :

Blaine’s at the airport the next day when he gets a few new texts.

 _The latest big tipper_ , Kurt sends, attaching it to their diner picture from the day before.

Blaine smiles down at his phone and texts back. _And what does this one want you to buy? Designer tuxes? Customized limousine?_

 _No_ , says Kurt’s reply. _He hasn’t made any demands. No requests._

 _Oh?_ Blaine texts, still smiling. _Then what does he want?_

It takes awhile to receive Kurt’s response. _I can’t be sure_ , it says. _But I’m gathering that the only single thing he wants is to marry me._

Blaine stares wistfully at the screen, already feeling the distance between them even though he hasn’t even left the state yet.

 _That’s it exactly_ , Blaine texts back. _You’re the only single thing he wants._


End file.
